Rebirth
by Broadway Magic
Summary: 2 years marking the death of Satine, Christian begins anew...but will a figure from his past change everything?
1. Default Chapter

"Christian!" Toulouse's voice rang out from upstairs. Christian's eyes didn't move from where his hands lay taut on his lap. He was in no mood for partying, or having fun of any sort. Heck, he didn't even want to write. Christian sensed that someone was in the room with him, but he didn't look up. "Christian," Toulouse repeated, his voice closer. He stopped at the sight of the young writer, dismayed to see that Christian had not moved from his position all day. "Guess what day it is!" Toulouse pressed brightly, eyes seeking Christian's for a glimmer of curiosity, excitement, anything. He got nothing.  
  
Finally, Christian raised his head, exposing emotionless, red-rimmed eyes, a drawn, haggard face, and pale complexion. "The day that marks the second year of which my very soul was yanked out, leaving me but a hollow, empty shell? I'm sorry, Toulouse, but that is the only way I can remember that symbolizes today." He glanced briefly at Toulouse's face, then his eyes flicked back down to his hands. Toulouse took a breath, and swept his gaze around Christian's garret, heaving a sigh of remorse. Cans, dirty clothes, crumpled pieces of writing littered the room. He fixed his eye on Christian, although Christian's eyes remained transfixed on his hands.  
  
"Satine would be ashamed," Toulouse murmured softly. It seemed as though each muscle, each fiber of Christian's being tensed, his hands tightening in his lap. His jaw tightened to the point that a blue vein was visible, and the back of his neck spotted with red. "Satine would want you to keep going…she did even when she knew she was dying. This is not the Christian Satine knew and loved, this is…"  
  
"You wouldn't know what Satine wanted," Christian muttered through clenched teeth, his voice low and chilled. Toulouse stared at his friend, whose voice had always been gentle and melodious. "You wouldn't know. I wooed her with songs and poetry. I loved her with every spare inch of my heart. But did I know what she wanted? She wanted to get away. That's all I knew, Toulouse. That's all," Christian's voice broke.  
  
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn," Toulouse recited slowly. "Is just to love, and be loved, in return." Christian lifted his head again, and gazed at him, the dull pulling at his heart lengthening.  
  
"And what of when that love ends, Toulouse? What happens when part of that love just…leaves?"  
  
"Love never dies, Christian," Toulouse replied softly, and Christian just looked at him. When had his friend become so philosophical? Emotions tore at Christian's heart, but although Christian knew Toulouse was right, he was too stubborn to admit it. So, Christian did the next best thing.  
  
"Go away, Toulouse." Toulouse looked ready to protest. "Now, Toulouse, leave." Toulouse had been through this with Christian before, 2 years ago, but now he knew to control it. Toulouse did not budge. "Toulouse, GET. OUT. NOW!" Christian bellowed, springing up from the bed. Toulouse fought the urge to recoil, not used to this sudden temper streak his mild-mannered, gentle writer friend possessed. Shrugging, with a meaningful look tossed over his shoulder, Toulouse hobbled out.  
  
Chest heaving, Christian leaned against the window frame, staring at the rundown building that was once the vibrant Moulin Rouge. Harold Zidler had been so grief torn over the loss of his Sparkling Diamond, his Sparrow, that the elephant that was once home to Satine, Christian's Satine, was torn down. Christian shook his head. So many memories, gone with Satine. Satine was the Moulin Rouge, and without her, it ceased to exist. Just like Christian himself.  
  
"Satine," Christian half choked, half whispered. "Did I bring this upon us? Come what may, I will love you until my dying day. It wasn't till now that I realized the irony of my words. Your dying day came so fast, so quickly. Was that just how our love was to be?" He rested his head on the window, thinking over this, when he snapped his head up. "NO! Toulouse is right! Satine wouldn't approve of me this way. Think of Satine, Christian!" he admonished himself. "Without Satine, I feel like I'm dying inside. Yet Satine was dying, but she kept on! Heck," he laughed dryly to himself. "She didn't tell me she was dying until right before she did die!"  
  
Suddenly, Christian swung out to his terrace, tossing his words to the wind. "Come what may, come what may. I will love you, until my dying day!!" the wind caught his words and carried them high into the heavens, in hopes that Satine would hear his words.  
  
{OK, that's Chapter One. Excuse me, but this is my first Moulin Rouge fanfic. Many more chapters to come, so don't think I left you hangin!} Oh, and some r&r would be nice ( 


	2. Tin's Studio...and a shocker

Christian strode into Toulouse's studio, pensive. He stopped short as Toulouse and the Argentinean hurried out, deep in conversation, not seeming to notice him. Amused, Christian cleared his throat, and the first smile of the day spread across his face. Toulouse glanced up, and beamed at the sight of his friend, changed, and washed, hair combed. The soulful eyes had regained their sparkle, and his lips were turned in a smile. "Christian!" Toulouse greeted him happily. "We were just headed over to Tin's (AN: The name I'm giving the Argentinean) new studio. First rehearsal. Care to join us?" Christian nodded, half in agreement, half in acknowledgement of Tin's new production.  
  
As the three men walked out, Toulouse was concerned for Christian. Not only was it the day marking the death of Satine, but in order to get to Tin's studio, they had to walk past the ghost building that was once the Moulin Rouge. As they neared the building, Christian shoved his hands into his coat pockets, hunched over, eyes averted to the ground. Toulouse nodded to Tin, and they picked up the pace, steering Christian past the graveyard of the Moulin Rouge.  
  
Once inside Tin's studio, Christian looked up. Nimble women stretched and arched their backs, and men leaned against the stage, rolling their necks. "A wonderful ensemble you have, Tin. But what is the story about?" Toulouse and Tin seemed at a loss for words. "theme, plot, setting?" Christian tried again. He was greeted with silence.  
  
"There is no script!" Tin burst out suddenly, a knowing smile on his face.  
  
"N-no script?" Christian echoed. "So many actors, and no script? What have you been telling these people?"  
  
"It's a work in progress," Toulouse whispered. Christian stared at him, then at Tin.  
  
"No script," Christian said again. "Might I ask why?"  
  
"No writer," Tin replied, liking where this was headed.  
  
"No writer!" Christian mused. "This is Paris, and you can't find a writer? Surely there is someone local that is willing to write for you…for free…" he paused, noticing that his friends were staring at him, small smiles on their faces. "No. no-no-no. you cannot expect me to…it is out of the question….i have not sat at my typewriter for two years. TWO YEARS, Toulouse!" Toulouse bit his lip.  
  
"Please, Christian!" Toulouse exclaimed, pleading, as he grasped the sleeve of Christian's coat. "We need a story!" he gestured to the actors and actresses. "THEY need a story! Once a few of them heard that the writer of Spectacular, Spectacular was writing the play, they poured in." Toulouse paused. "Well, some we had to do a bit of bribing."  
  
"You told them I'd be writing the…" Christian's voice trailed off. One of the actresses did a fancy move, and beneath the waving black curtain of hair, he caught a glimpse of wild, burning blue eyes, set into a pale face, and full, red lips. Christian's heart constricted, then dropped to his stomach. Every inch of color fled from his face, and he stumbled, slapping his hand over his heart. Tin lunged forward and caught the young writer, flashing a worried look at Toulouse. "Satine, Satine," Christian muttered, never taking his eyes off the raven haired woman. "She lives. Oh, my Satine lives!"  
  
"What's he muttering about?" Tin asked Toulouse, settling Christian on a bench. Toulouse tilted his head.  
  
"Something about Satine," Toulouse replied slowly.  
  
"No longer…apart…SATINE!" Christian yelled. "SATINE!" He lunged forward, only to be stopped and thrown back, two quick slaps to the face delivered by Tin echoing through the studio.  
  
"Christian!" Toulouse snapped, grasping his friend's shoulders. "Satine is DEAD! Dead, Christian! Come to terms! Let her GO! You will drive yourself mad!"  
  
"But she is..alive, Toulouse," Christian murmured. "See…see the dark haired girl." Toulouse turned, seeing that indeed the woman bore a striking resemblance to Satine, except for the hair.  
  
"Tin, let's get Christian home," Toulouse said quietly. "I thought he could handle being outside his shell for a day…"  
  
"Never knew…I could feel…like this," a soft, golden voice flowed over the studio. Christian's face exploded into a smile of sheer ecstasy, mixing with tears. "Like I'd never seen the sky before….want to vanish inside your kiss…everyday I love you more and more…" the dark-haired woman strode with sinewy grace toward the three men. To Toulouse's horror, she slid off her hair…until he realized it was a wig…exposing rich, vibrant red locks.  
  
Christian stood shakily, and pressed his fingers to her cheek. "You're real…aren't you?" he asked hesitantly. "I think…I think there is much explaining to be done." Satine smiled tearfully at him, and nodded.  
  
" As real as love. You do believe in love, don't you?" she whispered.  
  
"Love? Above all things I believe in love. Love is like oxygen, love…" he was silenced as the sweet lips of his Satine, his oxygen, blocked out all other thought. 


	3. Once a fee, love for free

Christian stirred, eyes fluttering open, his stomach knotting. Blindly, he slapped the space next to him. To his dismay, it was cold and empty. A dream. He struggled into a sitting position, and buried his head in his hands. So..real. he felt the warmth of her skin, her breath, smelled her perfume, felt the intensity of her eyes as they bore into his. Sinking back onto his pillows, he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing back the fiery tear threatening to burn his cheek.  
  
"Christian." Christian turned on his side, swallowing the lump in his throat. First the dream, which he was content with, now her voice. The worst part of the dream was the reality of waking up. "Christian, come on, wake up! Don't keep me in this suspense!"  
  
"LEAVE ME ALOONEEEE!!!" Christian cried, springing from his bed. His body heaved with exertion, eyes scanning for the Satine imposter, the one who dared taunt him with that voice. His unfocused glare swept past the window, then back in a double take. "Satine?" he breathed, drinking in the sight of the porcelain skin, tumbling red hair, and deep red lips.  
  
"Are you always haunted by dreams of me, Christian?" Satine asked quietly, blue eyes raising to Christian's own. She couldn't deny the total shock of seeing him yesterday. Christian had a soft heart, which was one of the many things she loved about him, and she considered he would take her **death** hard. She believed he would pack up and leave Paris, unable to combat memories of her and the Moulin Rouge. When she heard his cry at the studio, she was positive she'd been daydreaming. Daydreaming had become her pastime recently, and she embraced it. Once she felt the solidity of Christian's body, feeling his heart go unnaturally fast in time to hers, she'd gone weak with joy. Suddenly she was aware of Christian's gaze leveled expectantly with her own.  
  
"Yes," Christian choked out finally. "Each night, for two years, I either see you dead in my arms, while I scream for help like a maniac," Satine let out a gasp, and automatically reached her hand out to him, as though to stroke away his pain. "Or we're dancing under the stars, serenading each other, like we're the only ones in the world. And that's how I felt. Do you know what happens next? Do you?" Satine shook her head. Christian took a breath, and let it out. "I wake up, Satine. I wake up to find out that it was a dream." Satine stood up shakily, and wrapped her arms around Christian's neck, pressing her face to his cheek, feeling his hot tears soak against her own cheek. "why did you do it, Satine? You tricked me into believing you didn't love me, then you made me believe you were dead. FOR TWO YEARS, Satine. Two years!" Christian pulled abruptly from their embrace and studied Satine. He wasn't mad. Oh, he could never be mad at her. But he was upset, and confused. "How do I know you're not tricking me again, that you're a ghost?" Reluctantly, he left her side and paced the room. "Of course!" he muttered, half to himself, half aloud. "the Absinthe!" he kicked at a stray bottle. "Damn stuff…"  
  
Satine swallowed, and looked away. He was right, of course. He deserved an explanation. But where should she start? Letting out a shuddering breath, she looked into Christian's eyes. "It really began when Harold told me that the Duke was planning to kill you," she took Christian's horrified expression in stride, and shook her head to silence him. He pressed his trembling lips to her forehead, as she began her story….  
  
~**~~**~~~**~*~**~*~~~  
  
Satine stared at her complexion, ghostly white, before Spectacular Spectacular. She'd just gotten through with the pleading Christian, and his emotions had shaken her. Hastily wiping a tear that threatened to fall, she busied herself with make up. She imagined herself with the Duke after the show, his fingers groping at her. Nausea gnawed at her stomach, hatred boiling. Hatred at the Duke…at herself. She pictured the Duke pressing those foul lips to her skin, while she plastered a smile on her face, though she longed to writhe in disgust. And Christian….oh she would rather die to betray him, his gentle, trusting nature. Her head snapped up, a genuine smile flitting across her face. It just might work. Now if only Harold…  
  
"How are we doing, my little strawberry?" Harold cried gleefully, bustling into the room. His excitement was contagious, and Satine threw her arms around his neck. "The audience is simply squirming to get started! It's a full house! People are already standing!" he rubbed his hands with joy. Satine stepped back, and looked seriously at him. Harold paused, and studied her. " is there something wrong, Satine?" Satine looked at him, closed her eyes, and opened them slowly.  
  
"You said the Duke was going to kill Christian," Satine said, sorting her thoughts. Harold nodded solemnly, hating what the Duke was doing to his little sparrow. "What if I…" suddenly, Satine collapsed on the bed, body limp, eyes open and staring into nothingness.  
  
"Satine!" Harold gasped, hurrying over to the bed. "Oh, my girl," he whispered. Satine didn't budge, didn't blink, nor breathe. "Satine," he murmured mournfully, bending over his Sparkling Diamond. This show could not go on. Not without…  
  
"That good, huh?" Satine said, blinking her eyes languidly. Sitting up carelessly, she smiled at Harold's shocked face. "Good, I got my point across, didn't I?"  
  
"Child, you are insane!" Harold scolded, trying to calm his heart to a normal level. "what were you thinking?! You're…" he stared at Satine's smiling face as it registered in. "You're brilliant! If you are, quote on quote, dead, the Duke won't want you! And the boy…" Satine paled. Christian. How would he react to her **death**? Oh, everything was so wrong now! She was planning to run off with him, live happily ever after. But…if she were **dead**… Harold watched her every move. It was clear that she was thinking of the boy, Christian. "the show must go on, chickpea," Harold said quietly.  
  
"Yes, yes," Satine replied absently. "but Harold…"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Someday…"  
  
"Someday, chickpea. I promise."  
  
(Flash to Satine lying in Christian's arms)  
  
"I'm dying, Christian," Satine mumbled. This wasn't a total lie. The acting wasn't hard, she did feel as though she were dying. Without Christian, his words, his voice…his love. Satine closed her eyes. Love. She'd never been loved before. Loved by Harold, yes, but as a father-daughter bond. Not like this…  
  
"You'll be alright, you'll be alright," Christian was saying. Satine saw the sparkle of tears the young writer's eyes, on his face.  
  
"tell our story, Christian." The words flew out of her mouth. Where did that come from? Perhaps in hopes that it would sell, and that her Christian would no longer be the penniless writer. He had talent. Unable to look at Christian's tear streaked face, hear him scream for help, Satine relaxed, focused past Christian's shoulder, and left the Sparkling Diamond courtesan in Christian's arms.  
  
Prepared for this, she was taken out of Christian's grasp, and shuttled to a back room. Harold was already there, and gently informed her that the Duke was taken by the police. Satine nodded mutely, and stared at the floor. "It's for the best," Harold said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, saddened by Satine's heartbreak. Satine nodded again, and peered out the window, horrified to see two burly men dragging a yelling Christian outside. Unconsciously, Satine bolted toward the door. Harold grabbed her shoulder, just as one of the men growled to Christian,  
  
"Never fall in love with a woman who sells herself. It always ends bad." (AN: That was the "General Surgeon" warning on the Moulin Rouge website). Satine threw herself onto the bed and cried. Harold gestured to Marie and Chocolat, and the three left the courtesan to pick up the pieces of her broken heart.  
  
~**~~*~**~**~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~~*~***~~  
  
Satine paused, wrapped in Christian's arms, concerned to find him breathing heavily, his face buried in her hair. "Shall I go on?" she asked him, unsure if he could handle much more. He nodded tensely, and Satine smiled and gave him a quick kiss, causing him to relax. "Anyway, I was left on my own. I insisted that for Harold's sake, I create a new identity by myself, for fear that the Duke would trace back to Harold, only to find that I wasn't dead. Are you following me, Christian?" Christian nodded.  
  
"Go on," he encouraged hoarsely, smiling weakly. Christian didn't care if this was all a lie. She could throw out that she was a dragon for all he cared. She was with him, alive, healthy. His Satine. Satine smiled at him, and placed her hand lightly on his cheek. They stared wordlessly at each other for what seemed like hours, when the banging of a door jarred them back to earth.  
  
Toulouse stood awkwardly in the doorway. "Sorry, Christian! I did not mean to intrude on you and your female friend…" Satine turned around.  
  
"Don't look surprised, Toulouse," Satine laughed. "You did see me yesterday, correct?" she smiled at Toulouse's dumbfounded expression. "Understandable. I'm still working on getting Christian to say something coherent." Christian coughed in the background, and stood up, whispering something in Satine's ear. Satine's eyes watered, and she just about melted. She whispered something back, and they laughed.  
  
"Christian, this is not fair!" Toulouse exclaimed stomping his cane in frustration. "Young lovers may tell secrets, but not in front of me!" Christian just laughed and shook his head, shared an amused look with Satine, and kissed her cheek. Suddenly he sobered.  
  
"Come what may, I will love you until my dying day. You're dying day is up, Satine. Does this mean you can never love me again?" Christian asked, sighing, a wistful look.  
  
"You look too deep into things, my speculative penniless writer," Satine replied, laughing. Toulouse grinned, pleased to see a genuine smile, and sparkling eyes back on the face of his young friend.  
  
"I was made for lovin you baby, you were made for lovin me," Christian sang out suddenly. Satine smiled and twisted the words, tossing back,  
  
"The only way of lovin me baby is to love me just for free!" Christian laughed.  
  
"Haven't I always?" Christian answered quietly, coming over to take her hands. Toulouse decided that it was time to exit stage right, and he slipped out, to leave the two young lovers to their memories. 


	4. Misunderstandings

Christian sat, fingers poised over his typewriter. He flashed one quick, warm look over at the sleeping Satine, and smiled. CHINK Christian started with surprise as his finger tapped the typewriter. H. Christian grinned, and soon his fingers were flying, flying over the keys, like nothing had changed in two years.  
  
PART TWO  
  
How Wonderful Life was now that Satine was back in the world.  
  
Christian smiled triumphantly. Tucking his hands behind his head in satisfaction, he leaned back, tipping his chair. The chair toppled back, Christian splaying out on the floor within a whirlwind of loose papers. Satine shot up, and caught a sight of Christian making a mad scramble for papers, some which successfully drifted out the window. Christian's face was a mixture of dejection and sheepishness. Covering her mouth, Satine stifled a laugh, failed, and burst out into peals of laughter. Christian whirled and shot her a mock glare.  
  
"You think that's funny?" Christian growled. Satine nodded and grinned. "I'll show you funny, Mademoiselle Satine," Christian announced, pinning her arms above her head.  
  
"You wouldn't dare!" Satine gasped, shooting Christian a horrified look. Christian just smiled. "Christian…" she warned, struggling against his grasp. Christian laughed and teasingly waved his index finger at her…closer…closer. "Christian, no!" Satine shrieked, as Christian let out a full-length tickle under her arms. Screeching with laughter, Satine fought, her foot connecting with his chest, sending him flying backwards, where he hit a table and lay still. "No.." Satine moaned, gathering her nightgown around her, and hustling over to him. "Christian?" she shook his shoulder slightly. No response. "Not funny, Christian," she said worriedly. Sighing she walked off. Picking up the typewriter, she examined it. "Hmm. Could be enough for a new wardrobe," she commented lightly. Sneaking a peek toward Christian, she saw that he was gone.  
  
"If there is one thing someone does not do to a writer," a voice boomed, strong arms picking the machine lightly out of Satine's hands. "They do not toy with his typewriter." Christian grinned. "A writer, and an actor. How much better off can you get?" Setting the typewriter down carefully, he swept Satine into his arms and leaned down.  
  
"Christian! Mail!" Toulouse yelled, dropping a package down the hole. Christian and Satine groaned.  
  
"OK, Christian," Satine said firmly. "Me," she struck a seductive pose. "Or that sack of brown wrapping over there." Christian licked his lips nervously, and chewed his lip. Finally, he smiled and walked toward Satine, who held out her arms. "Never a doubt," she said, smiling. Just as Christian was about to walk into her arms, he dove sideways and grasped the package. "Christian!"  
  
"Sorry, Satine," Christian said. "I can have you when I want," this brought a pout and a scowl to Satine's face. He grinned boyishly. "But I never get mail!" Eagerly tearing the wrapping, his eyes bulged. "Oh..God…" Satine strode over curiously.  
  
"What is it?" Christian jumped up.  
  
"N-Nothing! Just…uh…magazine for men."  
  
"Christian! You don't get any magazines for men!"  
  
"How do you know?" Christian retorted quickly. Satine was advancing on him, and fast.  
  
"C'mon, Christian!" Satine exclaimed. Christian shook his head quickly. Satine dove toward him. Christian side-stepped, sending Satine tumbling.  
  
"Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth," Christian chanted, grinning. Satine lurched to her feet, bolted towards him, and…collapsed. Christian gasped. "No…not again!" he raced to her crumpled form. "Satine, Satine! Satine!" he shook her gently, fear and worry creasing his face. He turned to yell for Toulouse, when Satine's eyes snapped open and she grabbed the object from Christian's hold. Her eyes sparkled, but faded as Christian stared down at her, then he turned and raced up to Toulouse's apartment.  
  
"Christian?" Toulouse stared in shock at his ashen-faced friend. He was confused. One moment he heard Christian and Satine yelling with laughter, now Christian was up here alone, eyes downcast, lips pressed in a firm line. Christian looked up finally, face etched with hurt.  
  
"I can't trust her, Toulouse," Christian said dully. "We know what an incredible actress she is….i can't tell if she's for real, or if she's faking." Toulouse frowned, and gestured for Christian to take a seat.  
  
"Elaborate, my friend," Toulouse said slowly. "Give an example." Christian hesitated.  
  
"Well, first she faked being dead, and I've lived out 2 of my years in misery," Christian began. Toulouse nodded understandingly. "Just now, I wouldn't show her what I got in the mail, and we were running, laughing, then she collapsed." Toulouse's eyebrows shot up, but he nodded for his friend to keep going. "Naturally, I got worried. I was about to call for you, when she snatched it out of my hand, eyes positively gleaming with triumph." Christian sighed wistfully, and Toulouse sat stunned. "Toulouse, can I count on my fingers how many times this has happened?"  
  
"Well…"  
  
"Faking death, faking collapse, faking not loving me…." Christian tipped off each thing on his fingers. "Are we a lie, Toulouse?"  
  
"You must not think that way, Christian!" Toulouse said seriously. This was not going well! Meanwhile, Satine stared at the place where Christian once stood. Miserably, she turned the package over in her hands, brushing a velvet covering. Satine paused, and examined the cover. Freedom, Beauty, Truth, Love written by Christian James. Satine's hand fluttered to her mouth, and her eyes widened. He did it…for her…for them. She stood, and stuffed the book under the pillow, just as Christian appeared in the doorway.  
  
One look at Satine's stunned face, and Christian knew. "Surprise," he mumbled quietly. Satine walked over to him, cautious. "Say nothing, Satine. Curiosity got the better of you, as it would with anyone."  
  
"But Christian…" Satine began, before she realized he wasn't listening. Then he walked back out. Satine sighed, and sang softly.  
  
I'm sorry for everything I've said  
  
And for anything I forgot to say too  
  
When things get so complicated  
  
I stumble at best, muddle through  
  
I wish that our lives could be simple  
  
I don't want the world, only you  
  
Oh I wish I could tell you this face to face  
  
But there's never the time, never the place  
  
So this song* will have to do  
  
I Love You  
  
  
  
{{Author's Note(s)::: Sorry so short, will get better. What Satine sings is called Radames' Letter from Aida, and song* is a substitute for "letter". Kapish?}} 


End file.
